Somewhere, 20th July 2024
We started our day at the Trinity Church in Kazbegi after a rather unpeaceful night, which was permanently interrupted by barking dogs and people pitching their tents. We set off at dusk shortly after 6 a.m. and got stuck right away. Luckily, we were spared a mud fight with Freds ramps. Instead, a pick-up truck stopped at this very moment and dragged us out of the deep mud that we had gotten into further and further by pushing.
Eventually, finally with solid ground below our wheels, we drove to the border, the Georgian-Russian crossing "Lars". It was drizzling and cold enough for two jumpers and a hat, even in summer. ‘Very German,’ Edgar said to me while looking at my feet, which were tucked into my sandals with a thick pair of socks. Well, I only wanted to cross the border. No need to dress up, I guess.
Leaving Georgia
We parted ways shortly before passport control. Peacefully, I had breakfast and watched news while waiting in the car line. Edgar and Elayis, in the meantime, had to march through the interior of the control facility by foot and had to stay there for a good hour and a half while I made coffee in the car outside. Travelling with a van really does have its upsides every now and then.
Finally around nine o'clock, we continued to the Russian post by winding our way through a valley and too many sketchy-ish tunnels. After our passports and the luggage in the car have been checked, I had to deal with customs, which is, as I had already learnt in previous research, the dreaded part.
The relatively young border staff was fairly cheerful. However, this did little to change the fact that one feels quite small between the formal clothing and the precise instructions. Like crumbs on a large carpet: fairly irrelevant, but a little annoying and constantly fearing the hoover.
I made my way to counter 29 with all my documents. The window of the little booth was, of course, closed for the time being. In front of it, however, a few other crumbs were waiting to clear their vehicles too. Surprisingly quick, I got my documents as soon as the windows opened.
German as I am, I had of course prepared myself and filled out my documents according to the template that I had found online and even printed out. Only to realize shortly after, that my template document was not filled out correctly, so I had to do it all over again.
By that time, there was a lot going on at the counter. The crowd of crumbs had grown and had gotten impatient, documents were being waved around and people were shoving and pushing. I didn't get to show my documents again for a few rounds of window openings, and when I finally made my way to the semi-nice lady with a straight ponytail and artificially full lips, the next issue arose: the second half of my migration card should have already been taken and stamped at the previous passport control.
That's how the confusion began and I was sent from counter to counter. I was allowed to look at the border area in detail until I was asked to wait in a small corridor whose outdated equipment reminded me of my school days in Eastern Germany. Finally, a while later, the issue was resolved and I got my migration card stamped and returned. Why are borders still so impractically analogue?
After more than five hours, we left the Russian border and there we were, in the largest country in the world. We've definitely earned our lunch - kharcho, bread, egg and beetroot salad. It took well over another hour for me to buy a SIM card and car insurance and it was eventually in the afternoon, that we started the actual part of the day: The driving. Flatland between Islam and post-Soviet style, until it got dark, until we came to a halt in a dry, arid meadow.
This text is part of an article that was published in August in the Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung (German language). Take a look and stay tuned for more information about Kazakhstan in the coming days!
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